


Don't @ Me

by hannrose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, inspo by you've got mail, michelle and peter dont like each other at first, online best friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-07-20 17:36:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16142156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannrose/pseuds/hannrose
Summary: Peter Parker and Michelle Jones can't stand each other in real life. However, unbeknownst to themselves, on Twitter they are best friends. Michelle is 'Mary,' who runs a Spider-Man fan account, and Peter is 'Patrick,' who runs a Spider-Man update account. Peter, one day, posts a selfie that was meant for his main account, and the two have to rethink how they truly feel about the other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> interestingly enough, i've never seen you've got mail, but the description of the movie is what led me to do this. also i've always wanted to write a story based off of a social media relationship, so i'm very excited! peter and mj's online relationship is heavily influenced by mine with my best friend piper <3 hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> (my other story has been pushed to the side. i'll try to work on it but i'm not really feeling it)

**spiidermfans: does anyone know if spider-man is okay? that fight with vulture caused a lot of damage and he hasn’t been seen in a while :/**

**spideyupdates: @spiidermfans he’s fine! i just saw him on Jackson Ave with his old suit back. no need to worry**

 

The idea of running an update account on Twitter for  _ yourself _ would always feel a little bit weird for Peter. He had seen a bunch of other ones, and he followed a few out of pure curiosity, but they weren’t very active. So, Peter started an account one day when he was bored. He’d tweet things like, “Spider-Man spotted on his phone! Crime must be low today,” and attach images he had taken himself.

 

The  _ pictures _ . Peter got a camera for his seventeenth birthday, and he quickly fell in love with photography. Part of the reason why he kept the updates account up was because he was able to post the pictures--pictures of Spider-Man swinging around Manhattan, or of Spider-Man practicing backflips-- without people questioning how he was able to take so many of them. Peter would say the pictures came from some anonymous source, and enjoyed reading the replies that praised the photo.

 

He made a rule for himself to only post on it when he was in costume and when nothing was going on. It was just easier that way. During the day, he’d be on his personal account where he’d post selfies with Ned and retweet things from the Avengers, and for a long time it worked out. Unbelievably, Peter never opened the Spider-Man updates account when he was at school or at home. But then, he met Mary.

 

Mary wasn’t her  _ real _ name. She had a Spider-Man fan page, and he stumbled upon it a few days after his fight with the Vulture. He responded, and then she DMed him, and they didn’t stop talking until they found out that they went to the same school.

 

Finding that out sucked. Peter, honestly, didn’t want anyone at school to find out about his account, since Flash would ultimately bully him relentlessly. Surprisingly, though, Mary was cool with that. She even felt the same. “ _ But I don’t want to stop talking to you _ ,” she had said.

 

That’s when she gave him her fake name. Peter said his name was Patrick. They both made up separate names for all the teachers and their separate groups of friends, without giving the other person a key, and their system worked out amazingly.

 

So, Peter threw out his rule for himself and texted her non-stop.

 

**M: i’ve gotta go, patty. don’t suck too hard without me :)**

**P: what’d i say about calling me patty**

 

“Peter!” a voice a few feet ahead of him boomed. “Off your phone, practice is starting. Or do you want me to take it like last week?” Michelle smiled at him smugly, her eyes somewhat squinting and her head tilting, as if to tell him that she has all the power and he has none.

 

Michele Jones never liked him. Not even before she became team captain of Decathlon. She’d intentionally run into him in the hallway, or flip him off when he’d sit down at lunch, or throw crumpled up pieces of paper at the back of his head during history. And  _ before _ she was team captain, Peter could deal with it. He only threw one ball back at her, ever.

 

After, though, when she would throw paper at him, he always threw them back. He’d flip her off in return and wouldn’t say sorry when she ran into him, because at practice, Michelle seemed to have it out for him. She’d almost always bench him, and when Mr. Harrington wouldn’t let her, she’d intentionally set him up for the wrong answer and took his phone several times when Flash was on it  _ constantly _ .

 

Whatever they felt for each other, it was mutual. They could hardly stand being in the same room with the other.

 

“Tell that to yourself,” Peter mumbled as she checked her phone. Obviously, she didn’t  hear him, or she probably would’ve smacked him with a book. Instead, a small smile spread across her face as she read whatever was on her phone. “Wow, Michelle, was that a smile? I didn’t know you could do that.”

 

Instantly, her face grew stern. “Shove it, Parker.” Michelle cleared her throat and continued talking, “The meeting in DC is in a month and a half, and as reigning champions, let’s try our hardests to keep our title. Which means Betty, Flash, you two have to join in at practice. And  _ Peter _ ,” she said his name like it made her skin crawl. What was her  _ deal _ ? “You’ve gotta study more often. That Stark internship won’t get you very far if you can’t pass your classes.”

 

“What does that mean?” he snarled. Any other person, and Peter would have been able to shrug that comment off. There was just something different about Michelle. “Don’t I have the highest GPA at this table? Sorry, I meant in this school?”

 

Michelle opened her mouth to retaliate, but Mr. Harrington walked in with a box of donuts at that moment. “I am so proud of you guys,” he spoke, setting down the box in front of Michelle. “This is going to be a great year! Eat up, it’s brainpower.”

 

“Mr. Harrington, we have to focus. We won’t be able to practice if they’re shoving their faces with donuts,” she argued. Ned and Abe were already eating.

 

“Then we wait until everyone is finished. This is good for moral, so take one.”

 

Frustrated, she took out her phone while grabbing a chocolate donut. Peter talked with Ned about Ned’s mom finally letting them getting a cat until Peter’s phone vibrated in his pocket.

 

**M: mr dipshit is letting us ‘relax’ again**

**M: nobody else takes debate seriously. it’s so infuriating. i need to do good so i can get a scholarship or else i probably won’t be able to pay for college**

**P: i’m sure other people care, they just show it differently. ‘debate’ will do great this year, i’m know it**

**M: stop giving everyone the benefit of the doubt. you’re too nice.**

 

Michelle Jones found herself texting Patrick in the middle of class--especially in Chemistry. She texted him when she woke up, and before she went to bed, and it was all so new to her. She’s never had a friend like that before; a friend who you can talk to for forever and never get bored of.

 

She liked it, though. Patrick was interesting and funny and so nice it made her want to be a better person. Michelle wanted to meet him in person, of course. The first thing she typed out when she found out he went to Midtown was “What’s your full name and address?” She got nervous, though. What if he was one of the stoners? What if he wasn’t a student at Midtown, he was a teacher or something? 

 

Or, godforbid, what if he was  _ Peter Parker _ ?

 

Michelle decided against sending that message. Not telling each other who they really are had worked out for the best; she told him all of her secrets and if they ever had a falling out, there was no way for him to rat her out.

 

With a long sigh, Michelle set down her phone, and glanced around the room.. Flash Thompson sat in a corner, flexing his muscles--the little that he had-- for his phone camera. Betty Brant looked dreamily at Ned Leeds, who kept rambling on about something fluffy named “Pippa” to Peter, who was shoving a donut in his mouth.

 

She couldn’t believe that was what they were doing. The first practice of the school year and Mr. Harrington let them slack off. Michelle  _ needed _ this team--  _ her _ team, the team that  _ she _ was captain of-- to win that year. Without that win, she would be screwed. Her dreams of Stanford would be crushed, and not just financially, Michelle doubted they’d let her in at all without the Decathlon win.

 

Across from her, Peter laughed. Her immense distrust in Peter Parker started last year when he ditched her and she had to do a project meant for two people all by herself. That distrust grew and grew every day. Every day he didn’t show up for Decathlon, every day he gave his friends shitty excuses on  _ why _ he was late, every day his seat was empty in class. No average teenage boy missed school that much, and Peter was nothing if not average.

 

Well, there was one thing: the Tony Stark internship. That one thing was basically a “Get Out of Jail Free” card. He never got in trouble for ditching or turning his work in late-- in fact, Peter got  _ praised _ for it. Michelle once overheard a teacher say to him, “It’s not a big deal, Mr. Parker. Does three more weeks work as an extension?”  _ Three week extension _ . That was ludicrous.

 

Peter, even with all of his ditching, had the highest GPA in the school. Which was why Michelle hadn’t already kicked his face in-- that and the fact that she didn’t feel like being hunted down by Iron Man. With Liz gone, the Decathlon team needed him to win.  _ Michelle _ needed Peter.

 

He was undeniably a genius, and he knew it. And If he wasn’t so cocky about it, she would’ve tried her hardest to be nice to him, like her father raised her to be. But, Peter dozed off in classes and made comments. Comments Michelle enticed, sure-- like the one he made before Mr. Harrington came in-- but he didn’t  _ have _ to say it. Peter got underneath her skin. Plain and simple. 

 

She absolutely hated it.

 

**P: spider-man is eating a churro on 31st street. go get your picture**

**M: fuck off i can’t tonight :( my dad has me on lock down**

**M: why tell me first, anyways? is this some sort of set up to learn my secret identity**

**P: why would i want to see your ugly face when i have more important people to see**

**M: like who. you have two friends and one of them is me**

**P: steve rogers**

**M: he’s a war criminal i’d hardly say it’s more important to see him**

**P: oh, also i told you first because my best friend gets first dips before the swarm comes in :)**

 

Decathlon practice, once it started, went smoothly. Although answers weren’t always correct, everyone participated, which is honestly the only thing Michelle could ask for. Ned left in the middle because of a family emergency, though. She texted him after practice to make sure he was okay.

 

Then, he called her. They talked for an hour about Ned’s grandfather, and how Ned can’t get a cat now because he was coming to live with them and he’s allergic. “My mom and I were going to the shelter tomorrow! I’ll send you the picture of the cat I picked out. Even you would’ve loved him, MJ.” It was hardly an emergency, but she tried to calm him down the best she could, all the while sitting on the steps of her apartment building.

 

Once their conversation ended, and she went inside, her father said hello by telling Michelle how disappointed he was in her. “You are forty minutes late! Where have you been?”

 

“I was literally right outside on the phone. I didn’t want to bother you with my ‘boring teen conversations.’” She air quoted with one hand as she slid her backpack off of her shoulder.

 

“You know the rules, Michelle. Text me next time. You’re grounded.”

 

Her father wanted her to get into Stanford almost as much as she did. It’s where her parents met, and he felt that with strict restrictions on her social life and school work, she could meet her future husband there, too. Some kids would have seen her father’s pressure as suffocating. Michelle was grateful, actually. 

 

But, if she felt any less passionate about going to Stanford, she would’ve hated it.

 

‘Grounded’ was a very loose term in their household. He didn’t take her phone away, only her headphones, and wouldn’t let her into her room until her homework was done. When she did finish her homework, she wasn’t allowed to leave the house that night. (As if there was anything for her to do, anyways.)

 

That night, she texted Patrick. She watched  _ Friends _ reruns with her dad until he had to leave for work, reiterating, “No leaving the house, Michelle. Y’know, unless you get hungry or something. You want $20? I’ll just leave it on the counter.” 

 

Again, grounded was a loose term.

 

After he left, Michelle made herself Mac and Cheese and waited for Patrick to text her back, with no avail. She spammed him with question marks until she got tired of it, and sent a final, “ _ Suck my dick, Patty _ .”

 

Calling him Patty always seemed to get a reaction out of him. Alas, she still waited, and waited, and waited until  _ finally _ she got a notification that he had tweeted.

 

She had expected the Spider-Man churro tweet, which he had seemingly forgotten about. Or, a new picture of the webslinger. (Patrick confided in her that he took a few of those; when she asked how  _ the fuck _ he had to many, he said he was just lucky.) Or, maybe even an update on the Vulture, which was something he was considering doing.

 

It was none of those. It didn’t even have to do with Spider-Man.

 

The caption read:  _ It’s movie night! @NLeeeeds where u at? _

 

Looking at the first picture made Michelle’s stomach form knots. In it was Peter Parker, his hood up, holding  _ Star Wars: Empire Strikes Back _ , his face in an “O” shaped. The second picture was of Peter and an older woman, who was smiling giddily over his shoulder, and he was in mid-laugh. Peter’s aunt. Michelle recognized her from when she picked him up after Washington DC.

 

Obviously, that was not meant for the Spider-Man update account. And why would Peter  _ hack _ into a Spider-Man update account just to post a selfie of him and his aunt?

 

Oh, god. Peter fucking Parker was her best friend. There was no  _ fucking _ way. Michelle considered blocking him for a split second, her fingers hovering over the button as she thought it through.

 

No matter how much Parker made her mad, she couldn’t block him. Instead, she just unfollowed him and threw her phone out of her sight.


	2. Chapter 2

**P: mary i’m sorry for being a dumbass**

**P: please talk to me**

 

Most of the time, Peter had a general sense of self appreciation. He was proud of himself for taking down the Vulture, proud of himself for fighting against Thanos, and proud of himself for being the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Peter tried his hardest not to get  _ too  _ cocky, and personally, he thought he was succeeding.

 

There were other times, though, when he wanted to slam his head against a wall. Times when Peter  _ swore _ he was the dumbest personal alive. May, instead, just called him “absentminded.”

 

How could he have forgotten to switch accounts? At first, he even debated if he should tweet it at  _ all _ , because no one at school really cared what Peter Parker did with his Friday nights. He liked documenting his life, though. It made everything, although certainty fleeting, feel permanent.

 

So, he prepared to post it. He took thirty different pictures with different angles and different expressions until his aunt May took notice, where she then wrapped her arm around his neck and smiled giddily. “Send that to me, yeah? I need a new picture for my office, everyone thinks you’re still in middle school.”

 

“I’d bet I could pull that off,” Peter joked, setting his phone down on the couch.

 

She surveyed his face. “Oh, I guess you could.” His jaw dropped as May broke out in laughter. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding. Gosh, when did you get so sensitive? Does Ned want pizza or Chinese?”

 

“Uh, let me text him.” He exited his camera app and texted his friend, who simply replied  _ CHINESE! CHICKEN LO MEIN! _ Peter softly chucked and told his aunt, adding, “I’ll have--”

 

“I know what you’ll have,” May said with a comforting smile, and turned down the hallway.

 

Peter couldn’t remember when he last opened his personal account. Two weeks ago? Two months ago? His main focus, these past eight or so months, had been on Mary-- talking to her, making her laugh, thinking about her. 

 

He didn’t think about her like  _ that _ . Or, he didn’t think so. Mary was just his best friend; he told her everything. Everything except the facts that Peter was  _ Peter _ and that he was Spider-Man-- but  _ eventually _ he would have told her everything.

 

And because he has the worst luck, she discovered the former earlier than Peter had planned. He picked up his phone, without checking anything, and tweeted the pictures. Ned knocked on his door at that moment.

 

For two hours and seven minutes-- the duration it took to watch  _ The Empire Strikes Back _ in its entirety-- Peter hadn’t touched his phone. Not one little peek at his notifications. He was entirely unaware of the shitstorm  _ he _ had started.

 

When he finally turned his phone on, he was swarmed with notifications. Peter furrowed his eyebrows as he read the comments, confused on why a bunch of people from his school not only bothered to retweet him, but also tell him that he’s  _ hot _ . (Something that no one had ever told him before.) 

 

And then he finally looked at their icons and usernames. The blood rushed to his face in embarrassment as he tried to find Mary’s response.

 

Peter never found it, though. She didn’t even DM him. In fact, the only thing she did was unfollow him.

 

“You’re fucking kidding,” he groaned quietly, dropping his phone to his lap and resting his head in his hands.

 

“What’s wrong, Pete?” Ned, whilst eating his chicken lo mein, asked.

 

Peter shook his head. “It’s nothing.” He never mentioned Mary to Ned before; not because Ned wouldn’t understand, because Peter knew without a doubt that he would. It’s just that when Ned,  _ and _ May, found out that he was Spider-Man, they talked about it constantly. He explained everything he’d ever done in the costume and how the Avengers acted  _ outside _ of their costume and, frankly, it was a lot.

 

Not telling Ned about Mary made their relationship more personal. The moment Peter opened his mouth about it, he’d have to delve into the million of questions Ned would have. Most of the time, Peter enjoyed them. He didn’t foresee himself enjoying that batch.

 

“It’s something. You’ve got that intense ‘I hate myself’ look.” Ned gestured to his face and Peter self-consciously touched his cheek. “Did you hear what MJ said when you went to the bathroom with your, uh, super hearing and all?”

 

“What? What’d she say?”

 

Ned’s eyes grew wide and he stammered to avoid answering. “Uh, n-nothing. What’d who say? Let’s talk about you now.”

 

“I’m terrible at keeping secrets,” Peter, deciding not to press, said after letting out a groan. “It’s almost like I am subconsciously sabotaging my life. So I met this girl, right?” Ned nodded and winked; Peter threw popcorn at him. “No, not like that. We met online on my update account for  _ myself _ \--”

 

“Holy shit, you still use that?” his friend interrupted, taking out his phone to open Twitter. “‘Spider-Man spotted at Grand Central, taking selfies with fans!’ Four hours ago. Hey, how come you haven’t let me get  _ my _ Spider-Man picture?”

 

Peter yanked Ned’s phone from his hands and put it underneath the couch cushion. “Dude, focus for a second. Anyways, she goes to our school and she didn’t want everyone know that she has a stan account for Spider-Man, so she told me her name is Mary. And I swear to god, Ned-- she’s the most funny and genuine and- and  _ spectacular _ person I’ve ever talked to. But I fucking posted a selfie--”

 

“The one directed at me? Those were good ones.” Peter gave Ned a glare. “Sorry. Is she mad? Does she hate you?”

 

“She unfollowed me. Won’t answer my texts, either.”

 

Ned shrugged. “Maybe real life Mary hates real life Peter’s guts.”

 

“Nobody gives that much of a shit about me to hate my guts, expect Flash. But I feel like he doesn’t really hate me, he just is insecure and I’m an easy target, y’know?” 

 

“I mean, there is someone else.”

 

“Who?”

 

“ _ Don’t be an idiot, Parker _ ,” Ned said in a feminine, mocking tone, making Peter scoff. “I’m serious! She’s on your ass all the time. You should hear what she says when you’re not around.”

 

“Michelle’s a robot programmed to yell at me. Wait-- what does she say when I’m not around?” Peter checked his phone again, the only notification being from yet another person complimenting his curly hair.

 

He waved Peter off again. “Nothing. MJ really isn’t that bad, Peter. And she’s not a  _ robot _ , she’s got many emotions that she keeps hidden away for... reasons. Also, who is to say that robots don’t have feelings? C-3PO had  _ many _ emotions!”

 

“He got annoyed at R2 constantly, and that’s it. Anyways, Ned, Michelle is  _ not _ Mary. There’s no way.”

 

“Can you just do one thing for me? To test my theory, since we’re young budding scientists?” Ned gaudily straightened out his shirt, and it made Peter chuckle. Only a little bit, though, however Ned still noticed. He gained a proud look on his face. “Just say a few things around her that only Mary--and I-- would know. But make it so that their  _ kind of _ wrong so she has to correct you. MJ loves correcting you.”

 

Peter knew that Michelle Jones wasn’t Mary. He  _ knew it _ . The probability of it was absolutely astronomical--the only person in the world who he can’t share a room with is  one of his best friends? No fucking way. That’s why he said yes, because he knew his tests were going to turn out in his favor.

 

He knew it in his guts.

 

**michellerjones: boys are liars i can’t believe this happened to me**

**nleeeeds: @parkerpeter LOOK AT THIS. LOOK. I’M TELLLING YOU. I’M RIGHT**

 

Michelle thought about Peter all weekend. 

 

She thought about what she was going to say to him. She thought about if this changed anything—which she decided that it didn’t. She thought about Ned’s stupid reply on her tweet. 

 

Michelle also thought about how many times she comforted him while he was crying, thought about how she knew all of his insecurities and his whole history without even knowing it was him. Michelle understood, at least partially, why Peter was the way he was. 

 

But it was all bullshit. Not what he said—what he said was all true— but the fact that she  _ knew _ it all. Michelle knew his deepest darkest secrets and she wasn’t supposed to know anything. 

 

Sitting across from Peter in European history made her feel guilty, something she didn’t expect to feel. She usually didn’t care for him at all until Decathlon. Michelle hardly noticed when he was late to history, she didn’t notice that he wore beat up, hand me down shoes until that day, and she began to wonder if those were his uncle’s. 

 

An uncle  _ Mary _ knew about. Not Michelle. 

 

She tried ignoring her little pestering thoughts—until lunch. After catching herself watching him a few times, Michelle shoved her book into her bag and stormed out of the lunchroom. She couldn’t possibly  _ like _ Peter, could she? Not romantically, definitely not, but she felt an urge to talk to him. Like, a real conversation. It wouldn’t be them yelling at each other, she wanted to sit down across from him and tell him about her  _ day _ . 

 

Michelle felt sorry for him. His parents died, his uncle died, and there were only two people in his life he was close to: Ned and his aunt. Actually, make that three: Ned, his aunt, and Michelle. 

 

Then came fourth period, and Peter wasn’t there. When the sub called out roll, there was no obnoxious “Present!” coming from the seat behind her. Any other day and Michelle wouldn’t have cared. But— he was at lunch, and in first period, and he didn’t look sick in either of them. Did May pull him out of school? Why would she need to do that?

 

Michelle picked and picked at her orange nail polish—something she did, on a whim, that weekend—and anxiously bounced her leg as she watched the door. He would think it to be weird if she texted him. Maybe she could say it was Decathlon business? Emergency meeti—

 

Suddenly, the door busted open. Peter waltzed in, an apologetic grin spread across his face; in between his fingers he held a hall pass. “Sorry I’m late, sir. Stark internship business.” 

 

“No big deal, Mr…” the sub, Mr. Wallow, looked at Peter’s pass. “Mr. Parker! You were on the school website last week, weren’t you?  _ Midtown student a hero! Saves preschooler from being ran over _ . That was very brave.”

 

“It was nothing,” he pridefully said, and Michelle’s sympathy was washed away in an instant. 

 

When Peter turned to walk to his seat, she looked up at him for a split second. His eye was black and swollen, and she knew it wasn’t like that during lunch. 

 

“What the hell is up with your eye?” she hissed, turning around and resting her elbow on his desk. 

 

Peter slammed his textbook on his desk. “It’s nothing.”

 

“Like saving a kid is nothing?” Michelle mocked. “I’m serious, Parker. Your eye.”

 

He scowled at her. “Why do you care, Michelle? You’ve never asked me before.”

 

“ _ I _ don’t care. Frankly, I couldn’t give a shit what you do in your free time. I am asking as your Decathlon captain, making sure you won’t become incarcerated before the meet.” 

 

He stared at her for maybe four, five seconds. Could he tell that she was lying? Michelle was actually, genuinely worried; it made her sick to her stomach that she cared that much. 

 

“Really, it’s nothing,” Peter said, softly. “I fell down the steps and hit myself in the eye this time.”

 

“This time?”

 

A slight smirked graced his face and he shrugged his shoulders. “It’d be illegal to tell you everything.”

 

Weirdly, she laughed. She never  _ really _ laughed at his jokes, and it made Peter tilt his head in confusion. “Sure, Parker.”

 

“Um…” He gazed at her, a little bit longer than he should have. “C-Can I ask you a question?”

 

She stared back at him. Her mouth slightly ajar, her voice cracking when she began to talk, Michelle was embarrassed. “I have to work on my packet, actually, so…”

 

“Oh! Right. Yeah, cool. Maybe later.”

 

“Yeah, maybe.” 

 

Michelle could still feel Peter looking at her even when she turned around.

 

**spideyupdates: Spider-Man stopped a bank robbery at 1:30 today. Go Spidey!**

**NLeeeeds: @spideyupdates he was doing this while i was in calc? this is bull**

 

In fifth period, she ignored her work and mainly surveyed Peter. He had terrible posture and a problem with touching his hair, and his attention was everywhere except his work. He’d lean over to Ned and whisper a joke, or draw on his hand, and he got up to sharpen his pencil seven times.

 

Seven times.

 

Michelle felt like she was betraying her father for thinking about a  _ boy _ this much. He had raised her to do the exact opposite--“Girls who only think about boys only get pregnant, not a Harvard acceptance letter.”--and generally, she thought the same. Boys didn’t really matter to Michelle.

 

Indirectly, she had started to care about Peter Parker. She was going to get over that, though.

 

“MJ! Hey, MJ, wait up,” Ned called after her when class ended. She stopped at the first row of lockers and noticed Peter was trailing behind. “Peter and I have movie nights every Wednesday and Friday--”

 

“ _ Dude _ , what are you doing?” Peter tried interrupting, but Ned carried on.

 

“--usually it’s just the two of us. Sometimes Peter’s aunt. Would you like to come? You can pick the movie.” Ned, pleadingly, smiled at her. Behind him, Peter was shaking his head.

 

“I don’t think that’s the best--”

 

“Please? We never hang out, and I think it’s a missed opportunity that we aren’t closer.” Peter was mouthing  _ say no _ .

 

Distancing herself from him was the best option that Michelle had. However, Peter really didn’t want her there. Maybe doing what she normally would’ve done was better. “I’ll be there.”

 

“Great! Peter, text her the address. Bye, MJ, see you tomorrow!” They walked away from her, and Peter must have said something like  _ What the fuck? _ because Ned shouted, “I’m helping you!”

 

Helping him with what?

 

**parkerpeter: hey, michelle. it’s peter. look, you really don’t have to come on wednesday**

**michellerjones: what? of course i do, parker. it’ll be fun watching you have a bad time**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll try to update this at least once a week, usually thursday-saturday. anyways, i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! i've never had a story get so many kudos in 24 hours before, so hopefully you guys liked this one too


	3. Chapter 3

“I hate you so much.”

 

Peter threw on a sweatshirt--red, as formfitting as a sweatshirt could be-- and turned around to show Ned. He gave him a thumbs down, so Peter tore it off and grabbed a flannel.

 

“As if you’re a catch,” Ned cheekily remarked. “Why are you freaking out about your  _ clothes _ ? MJ doesn’t care what you wear.” He grimaced when he saw the yellow mustard color his friend had chosen. “Do you own any blue? Besides our school shirt and your Spider-Man suit. Oh! I know, wear that.”

 

Peter flipped Ned off and grabbed a blue long sleeve shirt. “Ha. Ha. And, I don’t know, honestly. I can’t control what she says about my house, I can’t control what May says to her, but this-- I am in control of this, and I don’t want to look stupid.”

 

“She doesn’t care, though. She’ll probably show up in PJs.”

 

“I  _ know _ she doesn’t care. I just need my hands on the wheel, y’know? It’s been years since anyone that isn’t you or Tony have visited and it’s freaking me out.” Peter pulled the shirt over his head. “And the fact that it’s someone who hates me--”

 

“Hate is a strong word.”

 

“ _ Strongly dislikes _ me, is not helping. Thanks a lot for that, by the way.” He looked in the mirror and, after decided it was adequit enough, found his desk chair and slumped into it. “This night is going to majorly suck.”

 

Ned looked at his friend sympathetically, hesitating with a response. “Dude, if I knew this was going to hurt you I wouldn’t have--”

 

Peter opened his mouth without a plan of action, but at that moment his aunt swung the door open. A dish towel was swung over her shoulder, riddled with spaghetti sauce, and some of it was on her jeans, as well. “Boys,” May said, a proud smile on her face. “There is a very pretty girl in the living room waiting for you two.”

 

“What’s with the whole…” Peter pointed to the stains.

 

“Another failed cooking attempt. I’m ordering some food soon. Ned, why don’t you go ask Michelle what she would like.” Ned nodded in agreeance. He collected a blanket and a pillow in his arms then got off of Peter’s bed, squeezing past May who stood in the door frame. When he was gone, May turned to her nephew. “She gave me a boquet of flowers. Tulips, actually. Did you tell her those were my favorite?”

 

He didn’t. Peter only remembered telling her about May once; it was his very first Decathlon meeting where he had to introduce himself. There was one person he did tell though…

 

“No. Lucky guess, I’d bet.”

 

May, her voice playful, shouted, “What are you still doing here? You’re making your very nice guests wait. Go!” She couldn’t help but laugh when she pointed her finger down the hall.

 

Michelle was sitting on the couch, in  _ Peter’s _ spot, debating with Ned about what movie to watch. She was wearing leggings, a Spider-Man sweatshirt, and her hair was in a high bun. Peter thought again about changing his clothes, but Michelle had spotted him.

 

She didn’t say anything. She just smiled and waved, then went back to her and Ned’s argument. Michelle’s lack of a witty remark made the butterflies in his stomach disapear; she was smart and had manners, maybe she wouldn’t outright trash everything about him with his aunt thrity feet away.

 

Peter, his thoughts now on food, stuck his hands in his sweatshirt pocket and made his way to the kitchen. He grabbed three different bags on chips and stacked soda cans on top of each other, making a tower. He rested his chin on the tower and carried everything into the living room.

 

“We’re watching  _ Heathers _ ,” Ned announced. He grabbed a can of grape soda and offered it to Michelle.

 

“I hate the artiffical grape flavors. Do you have any regular fanta?”

 

Peter tossed her a can. “We only get grape for Ned, honestly. Why  _ Heathers _ ? Who suggested that?” When he talked, Peter looked soley at Ned, but he could see out of the corner of his eye that Michelle was avoiding eye contact, as well.

 

“I did,” said Michelle. “Ned brought out a whole list of sy-fi movies and I thought you two needed a more realistic movie once in a while. Pass me the Cheetos?”

 

“He manipulates her into murdering people,” he scoffed while Ned handed her the bag.

 

She shrugged. “That’s totally happened before. I’m not saying that we should all turn into Bonnie and Clyde, I’m just saying that sometimes it seems like your head is stuck in the clouds, Pete.”

 

“ _ Don’t _ call me--”

 

“Who wants pizza?” May exclaimed, almost jogging into the room. “I know I want pizza. Michelle, what kind of pizza do you like?”

 

She looked distastfully at Peter, and tried to kindly tell May, “Cheese.” 

 

“ _ Cheese _ ? That’s boring,” he laughed. He looked over at Ned, expecting support, but he was texting his mom  _ I might not make it out alive _ . “It’s your fault,” Peter whispered to him after reading his phone screen.

 

“Well sorry, I’m not interesting enough,  _ Pete _ . Not everyone can ditch third period and come back with black eyes every day.”

 

“Black eyes?” May interjected. She knew about the Spider-Man stuff and was slowly,  _ very _ slowly, becoming okay with. She loosley set some rules for Peter about it, worrying that if she set too many he’d run to Stark and live with him, but she never said he couldn’t leave school to stop crime. May just thought it was common sense; Peter liked finding any loophole he could. “Ditching third period? Uh, you know what-- We’ll talk about this later, Peter. I’ll get you your cheese pizza, Michelle. Play nice, okay?”

 

Once May left, Peter took a handfull of Doritos and threw one at Michelle. “Thanks a lot,” he grumbled.

 

“I… I thought she knew.”

 

“You think she’s okay with me missing class every day and getting beat up?” Ned looked over at Peter, his eyes wide, as if to say  _ you fucking idiot _ .

 

“Beat up?” she repeated.

 

“What? I didn’t say that.”

 

“Yes you did. Peter, do you get beat up every day? Is that why you miss so much school?” 

 

“Are you asking as my Decathlon captain or an actual person?” And with that, any shred of concern that  _ might have _ been lurking under the surface, dissapeared from her face. Michelle stared at him blankly, then receeded into the corner of the couch and pulled out her phone.

 

Ned looked between them and cleared his throat. “I think we should watch this movie before someone actually kills someone else, that sound good guys?” No one responded. “Great. Don’t get any ideas, you two.”

 

“Stop talking,” Michelle said through her teeth.

 

**P: my bi-daily “please talk to me im literally dying without you” text**

**M: leave me alone**

 

She knew she wasn’t being nice.

 

Michelle’s plan was to  _ naturally _ be bitchy, like before she found out. Usually her insults would roll off the tongue, they weren’t something she had to think about, but that night they were getting stuck in the back of her throat. It was as if her body was intentionally blocking her. And, usually, Peter’s comebacks didn’t hurt her. She’d shrug them off, since they were usually lame and _ if  _ they were somewhat clever, Michelle would feel inclinded to laugh. 

 

And then she met May. As spectacular as Peter had described, she reminded Michelle of her own mother. Before she went to get the boys from Peter’s room, May told her, “It’s really nice that Peter has you as a friend. I worry about him all the time--you know how hard of a time he’s going through--I guess it’s just good to know that he has someone else to confide in.”

  
Michelle, after that conversation, wanted to be nice to Peter that night. She didn’t know what was going on in his life, not really--he could’ve left out a whole part of his life and she wouldn’t have known. She was going to cut him some slack that night.

 

It was really his fault. He made those comments about cheese pizza being boring and Heathers being unrealistic, and it didn’t really matter  _ what _ he said; the way he said sounded repulsive and confrontational. Like he was already prepared for a fight. 

 

The final blow was when he asked her, “Are you asking as my Decathlon captain or an actual person?” As if she didn’t care about his wellbeing. As if she  _ wanted _ to see him bloody and broken in a hospital bed one day. As if the Decathlon captain persona she had created to coach her team to victory is cold and terrible and a sadist.

 

Did Peter see her like that? As cold and terrible and sadistic. Thinking about it made her sick, and it made it even worse that Michelle valued Peter’s opinion.

 

And thinking about it, she was angry. He didn’t know her well enough to think of her like that, and perhaps he didn’t deserve to.

 

While watching the movie, she angled her body away from them and kept her hood up, which only slightly blocked her view of the two boys. Michelle was still vidily aware of their presence; her shoulder was slightly pressed against Ned’s, and Peter was a heavy breather.  _ Cold, terrible, sadistic _ . Maybe that was how she acted.

 

Those three words wouldn’t leave her head. Michelle had jumped to conclusions. Peter never said that, he would  _ never _ have said that, but his actions were different. She wanted to go home, but she was stuck on the couch that continuously felt smaller and smaller.

 

Had her father raised her to only care about one thing? Her academics were the only things Michelle found herself stressing about; she forgot every jab at Peter or an embarrassing stutter by the time she was on the train ride home. What she did remember, though, was the A- she got on a pre test. Oh, how she cried about that flimsy little  _ minus _ symbol, on a test that didn’t even matter. Did her father raise her to be cold to others?

 

If her mother was still around, maybe Michelle would’ve turned out different. She would’ve had actual friends.

 

Suddenly, Heather Chandler’s falling body paused in mid-air. “Are you okay, Michelle?” Peter hesitantly asked.

 

“Yeah,” she said, keeping her head on the TV screen, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

Ned turned to her, adding, “Y-You sound like you’re crying or something. Is it something in the movie? I thought you said you’ve watched it before.”

 

“I’m not crying, see? Dry as a bone.” She turned to them, finally, gesturing towards her eyes.

 

The two boys exchanged worried glances. Ned nudged Peter with his elbow, and after groaning, Peter started speaking again. “It just seems like you’re upset about something, and Ned is--” Ned kicked Peter. “-- _ We _ are concerned.”

 

“The only thing that’s wrong right now is that we aren’t watching the fucking movie,” Michelle snapped. “Do you know what, I should actually be going. My dad doesn’t know I’m here and if he tracks my phone here he’ll kill you guys.” She stood up and folded her blanket over her arms, and started walking towards the door.

 

Peter jumped over the couch with little effort. “Woah, calm down. We’ll just watch the movie and not talk, yeah?”

 

“You don’t even want me here.”

 

“Th-that is not true.” She continued her walk forward, but Peter hastily walked backward until his hand was on the doorknob. “Maybe a little bit, b-but! Ned wants you here. My aunt really likes you, and how are you going to get home in the dark?”

 

“Do you care that I, your Decathlon captain, gets home safe, or an  _ actual person _ ?” Michelle threw his words back at him, and realization hit him quickly.

 

“That’s not what I meant! I just meant that--”

 

“That I can’t have concern for anyone without ulterior motives? It’s great to know that’s how you think of me, Peter. Could you get out of the way?” She knew any attempt to move him would end in failure. 

 

Peter kept his ground. “Okay, yeah, I shouldn’t have said that. It was a dick move. I’m sorry. But it’s not like you haven’t said equally bad things to be…” his voice trailed off, like he meant to whisper it to himself.

 

“You’re such a dick, Parker.”

 

From behind them, Ned got off the couch and made his way over to them. He handed Michelle her phone. “You forgot something,” he said to her. “Peter, let her go home. You’re kind of kidnapping her.”

 

Peter looked between them, biting his lip in intense thought before stepping out of the way. “Fine. Can we talk tomorrow, though?”

 

“Whatever,” she grumbled, swinging the door open, but turning around before leaving. “Thanks, Ned. Oh, and Parker?”  _ Tell him right now. Drop the “I’m Mary” bombshell and ruin his night _ . 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

**spiidermfans: someone tell me why i thought walking alone this late was a good idea**

**spiidermfans: @ spider-man help me out here**

 

Peter closed the door behind her. Yeah, he felt bad about what he had said, but he really didn’t mean it like that. He was referencing what she had said the day before, which was the  _ same thing _ — but they didn’t have that type of relationship where he could say that. 

 

Peter was trying to stop her from leaving because of what his aunt would say. Also, she looked upset. He felt uneasy just letting her leave.

 

“Asshole,” Ned called him. “You’re seriously going to let her walk home after that?”

 

“ _ No _ . I have a plan.” Peter raced past him, or tried, before Ned grabbed his wrist. 

 

“Please don’t tell me—“

 

He nodded, “Listen, I’m just going to follow her until she gets on the train. She won’t even know.”

 

It was a stupid idea. He didn’t know where she lived, he didn’t even know if she took the train, and he certainly didn’t know which direction she went in. But sometimes, Peter’s stupid ideas worked out. And he felt like shit about that night, and couldn't wait until Thursday to apologize. 

 

“Fine,” Ned said, letting go. “But when Spider-Man crawls back into that window and sees me finishing the movie, you’re not allowed to be pissed.”

 

“I won’t,” Peter promised, a contagious grin on his face as he ran back into his room. He quickly stripped and bounced around, trying to get his suit on. 

 

A female voice rang in his ears once the mask went on. “Hi, Peter. Where to tonight?”

 

“Karen,” he replied and climbed out his window. “Any way you can track a cellphone? Michelle Jones, sev- no, sixteen years old, Midtown student.”

 

Quickly, a location popped up on his screen. He muttered, “Awesome,” as he activated his web shooters and swung in that direction. 

 

Queens wasn’t the most beautiful part of New York, but Peter would’ve hated living anywhere else. Manhattan was too busy, Brooklyn was…  _ Brooklyn _ . Despite all the crime, which he was stopping and inspiring all at once, he loved the borough. 

 

Peter spotted her, just as she shrieked in surprise. Michelle jumped back and dropped her phone as a man whipped out a gun, pointing it at a guy in front of him. “You bastard,” the man yelled. 

 

Of course, Peter couldn’t follow someone without a confrontation occurring. He pointed his web shooters at the gun and yanked it out of his hands, then webbed him up and attached him to a pole. 

 

“Is everyone okay?” Spider-Man asked, his voice deep. “Besides him.”

 

“Yeah,” the guy at gunpoint confirmed. “Thanks, Spider-Man.”

 

He turned and left, sprinting. 

 

Spider-Man turned to Michelle, who had eyes wider than saucers and held her hands above her head. “And you, ma’am?” She was looking at his feet, where her newly cracked phone laid.

 

Peter couldn’t help but look at her phone screen when he bent down to pick it up. And when he did-- holy  _ fuck _ . Opened was her Twitter account, with a layout he was very familiar with. The icon was of himself (Spider-Man, not Peter Parker), a picture he remembered taking. The banner was simply baby blue--he had made fun of Mary for her basic Twitter layout countless times, but he actually quite liked it--and Michelle’s username sent chills down his spine.

 

It was her. Michelle was Mary. Ned was  _ right _ .

 

It took him a second to realize it, but it felt like an eternity. So many thoughts flooded his head but the only one at the forefront was  _ holy fuck _ .

 

Spider-Man handed Michelle the phone, and a smile spread on her face. “O-Oh my god! I love you, s-so much. You’re the best Avenger,” she boasted. “Can I get a picture?”

 

“Yeah, of course.” Out of pure shock, he didn’t deepen his voice, but she didn’t seem to notice. He put his arm around her and copied her when she did his iconic hand gesture, not really processing any of it. Michelle’s smile was wider than Peter had seen  _ anyone _ smile before--that kind of shocked him, too.

 

Michelle took the picture, and then a few more. “Thank you so much,” she told him.

 

Peter nodded. She smiled, laughing somewhat, and waved goodbye before walking away from him. He was going to ask if she needed help on her way home, but that totally slipped his mind. Because  _ holy fuck _ .

 

Holy. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise tuesday update! it's my best friend's birthday so this is her gift :) please continue to comment, i love reading them!


	4. Chapter 4

Peter stayed up until two in the morning looking through old messages. He was looking for anything that screamed,  _ “You dumbass! It’s so obvious who you’re talking to!” _ He didn’t find a lot, but a few little things that made him infuriated with himself.

 

Michelle had a codename for him--“Penis,” which really should have set off some bells the first time he saw it. She ranted only a few times about Peter not working. Nothing else about him was mentioned, though.

 

Once, Michelle unintentionally described what she was wearing at school.  _ “I’m actually wearing a joan or arc shirt right now! _ ” She followed that up with,  _ “Oh shit, don’t look for me in the halls.” _ Peter remembered that day hazily, but he did remember spilling ketchup all over Michelle’s Joan of Arc t-shirt. He didn’t even think twice about it.

 

Another time, he mentioned a book he had to read for English and she had to read the same one. Peter thought,  _ That’s weird, I’m in Mr. Jacob’s only junior class, and none of the other english classes have to read it _ . Then there was the time when she described Abe breaking a desk during history. Surly, Peter should’ve realized that they were in the same history class, since he literally sat right next to Abe, but he never did. He just assumed he heard it from someone else.

 

Idiotic was the only word to describe Peter. No other word--except maybe  _ imbecile _ \-- would sum up how he felt about himself. He should’ve found out earlier.

 

Maybe he didn’t want to, though.  _ Mary _ wasn’t real, in so many ways. In the obvious way, she didn’t have any real life implications. She couldn’t tell his secrets to the whole school and ruin his non-existent reputation. But, the way he built her up in his mind, also, wasn’t real. To Peter, Mary was this selfless, spectacular, hilarious girl who he thought was his best friend and if he met her in  _ real life _ … He was going to be disappointed no matter who she turned out to be.

 

After processing it fully, he found out that he wasn’t disappointed that it was Michelle the whole time. He didn’t like her, and she sure as hell didn’t like him, but Peter was only judging her by the very little information he knew about her.

 

Now, he knew everything. Peter knew her coffee order, he knew her favorite type of cactus (it was the bunny ear cactus,) and most importantly, he knew about her mom.

 

That also meant that Michelle knew everything about him. Like, his uncle’s death. That frightened him to think about, that at any moment she could turn around and tell the whole school how Ben Parker  _ really _ died.

 

But, she wouldn’t do that. 

 

He really hoped that she wouldn’t do that.

 

Peter didn’t want Michelle to be in a constant state of worry because of him. Following much consideration, he decided  _ not _ to tell her that he knew. She was probably just going to freak out and yell at him, anyways, and that’s not what he wanted to happen. Peter wanted to be friends with her. Real life, in the flesh, best-fucking-friends. Most likely it was the sleep deprivation talking, but his two in the morning self loved the idea. 

 

He missed talking to her, he missed her  _ so much _ it hurt, but talking to her with his mouth always ended with him in deep shit. Peter needed to find a way in that would force them to work together. Just the two of them.

 

Say, for example, a school project.

 

In history on Friday, Peter received a message from God himself. Not really, it was just a text from Ned saying their teacher was assigning group work in history where you got to chose your partners,  _ but _ it felt like a sign from God. Michelle never had a partner to work with. Neither did Peter. They always got away with it by Peter telling the teacher, “But I do better work by myself.” She would chime in, adding that she  _ too _ worked better alone, and she’d let them.

 

When Mrs. Bishop announced the project, Peter turned his head to Michelle. After a while she looked up, seemingly confused. “Aren’t you going to ask her?”

 

“Nah, not this time.”

 

Michelle, originally slumped in her desk, sat up and faced her body towards his. “And who do you think you’re going to be partners with?” She watched as Peter shrugged, blatantly and impolitely pointing at her. “I’d rather do all the work by myself, Parker.”

 

“This isn’t a classwork project. She’s making us make a whole poster, a slideshow,  _ and _ an essay. You’ll do all that by yourself?” The semester was almost over, and it was a  _ lot _ of work for just two people. Peter laughed as Michelle stammered out of frustration.

 

Finally, she said, “When did she say that? The poster thing?”

 

“When you were on your phone.” Michelle stuck her tongue out at him, and it would’ve been something different if Mrs. Bishop wasn’t in the room, he knew.

 

“Fine, we’ll be partners. But,” she said reluctantly, “we have to do it at your place. My dad has a no boys rule.” 

 

Sarcastically, Peter groaned and threw his head back. “Dads suck. How am I supposed to get you into trouble if May is always around at my place?”

 

“I don’t know,” Michelle laughed heartily. She laughed with her whole body, he quickly noticed, her shoulders shook and her feet bounced and it was kind of…  _ adorable _ . “Guess you’ll just have to find another way.”

 

“Will he kill me, though? The other night you said he’d kill Ned and I if he found out where you were. Could I take him in a fight?”

 

“No way. He’s six foot two and hard as steel, and you’re like the opposite of that. Flimsy, tiny, couldn’t rip paper.”

 

He counted that conversation as a win for him. Sure, he got insulted, but he made her  _ laugh _ and she  _ agreed _ with him on something. It was revolutionary. Later, he suggested they do their project on the Great Plague, and Michelle only fought him on it a little bit. 

 

Peter knew that this was going to work out. He was going to get his best friend back.

 

**parkerpeter: hey michelle, it’s peter. may wants to know what you want for dinner tomorrow. give me a backup take out option if she can’t do a homemade meal**

**michellerjones: no shit i thought you were jake gyllenhaal with that username**

**michellerjones: i’d like some lasagna. take out option: lasagna from Giuseppe’s**

**parkerpeter: smartass**

 

They were going to start their project that Saturday--Michelle intentionally skipping over Friday night. She was never going to watch another movie with Peter again.

 

On Thursday, they never got around to talking, but only because she ignored him the whole day. Michelle planned to remain spiteful and bitter towards Peter until she graduated, even though anyone with half a brain understood what he really meant with what he said. But, it was easier to be mad at him. That way she wouldn’t realize how much she missed him--his online self.

 

However, it was  _ easy _ talking to Peter in real life when she didn’t put up walls. Walls she had up on Wednesday. Their senses of humor were similar, and admittedly, he was charming. His smile was persuasive, his eyes were kind, and Michelle could have found herself getting very comfortable around him very quickly.

 

She might’ve gone home after school and planned her outfit. She also might’ve straightened her hair, just to see what it looked like, and thought about him to great extents.

 

Why, out of the blue, was Peter interested in talking to her? The project was a ton of work, yeah,  _ but _ it might have been manageable for her to do it herself. If he felt bad about Wednesday night, she would have accepted a note. (Michelle would have still harbored bad feelings for him, though.) The most he had ever said to her at once before that night was, “Holy shit, Michelle, I think your hair is way too close to the burner. Move!  _ Move! _ ” It was in chemistry last year. He pushed her out of the way, carefully, but she lost her balance and tripped over a chair. It didn’t make her like him any more.

 

Michelle’s limited experience with boys led her to her next question: what was he expecting out of this? She was  _ not _ going anywhere near his face, the thought of it made her gag, and Peter had never expressed anything like that towards her but… But they were going to be alone in an apartment for three hours. The last time she was alone with a boy was in the eighth grade, when she was the last to be picked up after Harry Osborn’s birthday party, and he kissed her in the back of an arcade.

 

Peter wasn’t going to do that. She hoped.

 

Once the paranoia passed, Michelle thought of the best ways to convince her father to let her go to Peter’s place. The “no boys rule” wasn’t just an excuse so Peter wouldn’t see her messy room; Mr. Jones was incredibly strict on that. No boys in the house, even if it’s for school work.

 

She came up with two solutions: One, lie her ass off and say it was a Decathlon outing, or two, tell the truth and beg on her knees. Michelle didn’t really have a problem lying to her father--of course she always felt guilty about it, but she only lied  _ one time _ that month. That lie let her go to Peter’s place.

 

If she had to manipulate her way to Peter’s every time, it was going to end in a shitstorm. Michelle would feel bad, her father would feel betrayed, and Peter would, too, probably. So, she wasn’t going to lie.

 

But, nobody said she had to tell him that night. Michelle was going to wait until the very last minute, where he had no room to argue.

 

**michellerjones: is it okay if i head over early? like 11?**

**parkerpeter: you sure you want to be at my house 11-dinner time?**

**michellerjones: nevermind i’ll come at one**

 

The only way Michelle’s father was letting her go was if he walked her there.

 

He made them leave at twelve-- _ way _ too early, she had insisted, but he ignored her and said, “If they’re not ready for you in twenty minutes, they won’t be ready for you in an hour,” which didn’t make any sense.

 

She tried stalling by going into a grocery store and buying an almond cake for May. However, that only consumed ten minutes. Thankfully for Michelle, though, outside the grocery store Spider-Man was stopping a car theft, drawing a crowd that made it difficult for them to leave the store.

 

Mr. Jones gawked for only a minute. His daughter got on her tiptoes to see the fight, grimacing when Spider-Man got clocked in the face, and didn’t even notice when Mr. Jones tried tugging on her arm. “Michelle,” he said, sternly, “Let’s go.”

 

All in all, they arrived outside the Parker’s door at 12:34.  _ He might not even be dressed _ , Michelle thought as her father knocked.

 

May Parker answered the door, a smile plastered on her face. She had her glasses on and a yellow sweater that made her look younger, but her grey hairs were persistent to make you think otherwise. Even with them, May was incredibly beautiful.

 

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You’re so early.”

  
  


Michelle held the almond cake out in her palms. “We brought you this. We don’t know how to bake, so…” Her father’s presence made Michelle feel awkward, as if she was a seven year old again being dropped off at a sleepover.

 

“It’s great, thank you, Michelle. It’s so good to see you again,” May said, genuinely. She took the almond cake and pulled her in for a half hug. “Come in side, both of you.”

 

Mr. Jones walked inside last, asking, “You two have already m--”

 

“Peter is on my Decathlon team, remember? We met that night we came back from Washington,” she quickly spat out, giving May a pleading look.  _ Please don’t rat me out, please don’t rat me out _ .

 

“Where are my manners? I’m May, Peter’s aunt.” Relief washed over Michelle as May extended her hand out for Mr. Jones to shake, which he did. “And you are…?”

 

“Markus Jones. Where is Peter? I’d like to meet him before I head out.”

 

Michelle chimed in, “He’s very overprotective,” giving a large smile to her father.

 

May shook her head. “It’s fine, my dad was the same way. Peter went to the store to get some snacks and some supplies, but he should be back any minute now.” She saw Michelle struggling with her backpack, adding, “Peter set up his laptop on the kitchen table, you can just put your backpack on one of the seats.”

 

They waited seven minutes for Peter, and when he finally walked in the door, he looked like a mess. He wore baggy joggers and a green sweatshirt, was balancing two full grocery bags in one arm and held a poster board in the other, with a KitKat between his teeth.

 

Michelle’s father did not seem impressed.

 

Peter dropped the poster board on the couch and took the KitKat out of his mouth. “May, you should’ve--” When he turned around, his eyes widened and he stopped dead in his tracks. “Holy sh-- You’re so early. Uh, hi, I’m Peter. Parker.” He waved to her father.

 

“Mr. Jones. Why is your lip all bloody and swollen?” Michelle’s father asked without missing a beat. Peter’s lip  _ was _ busted open, she now realized. A pit formed in the bottom of her stomach as she thought of him getting punched.

 

“I tripped on the stairs when I left earlier. No biggie,” Peter shrugged.

 

Mr. Jones stayed a little while longer, supervising them as they started their project. He asked what they were doing,  _ why _ the Great Plague, and if May had a car to drive Michelle home. When he got the answers he wanted, he kissed the top of his daughter’s head and left, glancing over his shoulder one last time.

 

Peter, whispering, leaned over and said, “I think your dad hates me.”

 

“That’s plausible. You’re an easy person to hate.” Michelle imitated his volume as she talked. “Why are we whispering?”

 

“Because I think he’s still on the other side of the door, trying to listen in on our conversation.”

 

She laughed as she shoved him away. “Shut up. He’s strict, not insane.” Peter raised his eyebrows unconvincingly, and after a moment when neither of them had talked, Michelle asked, “What really happened to your lip? Don’t tell me that you tripped.”

 

“Like I said, it’s no biggie. I’m good, Michelle.” He scratched the side of his head, not looking at her, and that’s when she noticed the dried blood on his knuckles.

 

“ _ Peter _ ,” Michelle hissed, grabbing his wrist and surveying his hand. “What the hell? Are you in a gang, or something? Are you in a fight club? How do you manage to have more injuries every single day?”

 

“I’m a superhero,” Peter laughed.

 

She kicked him in the shin. “I’m serious, Parker. I’m not visiting you in the hospital, just to let you know.”

 

His smiley expression dropped, and he put his free hand on top of Michelle’s, earnestly saying, “It’s really nothing. This morning I had a boxing class, and I didn’t duck out of the way before getting hit in the lip. And-- I actually don’t know what happened to my hand.”

 

Michelle nodded her head, happy that Peter wasn’t risking his life every day while being an idiot. Soon after, she regained her composure and yanked her hand free from his. “Good, I’m glad to know that  _ someone _ is beating your ass.”

 

“Michelle?” He looked deeply into her eyes.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Thanks for caring.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for 100 kudos! this chapter isnt the greatest but i really wanted to post something now, since i'm going to be out of town thurs-sunday and won't have a chapter up next weekend. however i hope you guys enjoyed this!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote most of this chapter on my phone so ignore any spelling errors please <3 also thats why this chapter is a bit shorter

**spideyupdates: personal update guys--i have more than one friend! i think**

**Nleeeeds: @spideyupdates what does that mean. text me back whore**

 

Truth be told, Peter wasn’t one hundred percent sure where he stood with Michelle; all he knew was they were in a better boat than they were a week ago. She doesn’t yell at him anymore. She doesn’t berate him constantly, and although she’ll still say some rude things towards him, it was sarcastic. It was funny. They were able to joke around with each other, and it felt natural.

 

To say that they were friends, however, was a bit of a strech. They only stuck to school topics--Decathlon, their history project, Ms. Moore’s distracting mole--after that first afternoon work session. Michelle still noticed Peter’s cuts and bruises. She would stare at them for an unnescasarily long time, biting her lip in thought, opening her mouth like she was going to say something but… Nothing ever came out. She’d smile at him and go back to drawing on the poster, like she wasn’t worried about him.

 

Even during snack breaks, their conversations were mind numbing. Michelle would ask how trig was, the only class Peter didn’t have with her, and he’d respond with, “It was boring. How was drawing?” And she’d say, “Fun,” and that would be it. Every day. Like clock work.

 

Peter didn’t know what to say to her. He knew that she knew who he was, but she didn’t know that he knew who she was. And  _ obviously _ Michelle didn’t want Peter to know, otherwise she would have said something to him when she found out. His predicament for someone of his social skills was almost unnavigable.

 

He was trying his best to elongate the project as much as possible, so that maybe one of those days, he’d get the courage to say something  _ meaningful _ . Something that would start a connection between them.

 

A few days after they started, Peter felt that bravery. That Thursday was going to be the day. He was going to talk to her,  _ really _ have a conversation with Michelle, whether it be about his crippling fears or why Halloween was the best holiday.

 

When she arrived at his house that day, most of that bravery went away. 

 

They were going to walk together after Decathlon practice, but after a cellphone conversation with her father, Michelle came up to Peter, apologizing profusley. “I am so sorry, Peter. I’ve just gotta go home for twenty minutes, and then I’ll come over. My dad is being--” She stopped herself, looking up at him like  _ why am I telling him this? _ “I’m sorry.”

 

Peter, instead, trudged home alone. A quater of the way he walked with Ned, who boasted about his new girlfriend Betty and their next date. “She’s so awesome, Pete. Would you mind if she came to our movie night tomorrow?”

 

“ _ Tomorrow _ ?” He repeated. Peter thought Betty was nice; she always said hi to him in the halls and let him copy off the homework he missed, but he’d feel awkward sitting on the same couch with the couple.

 

“MJ came!”

 

“That’s different. Michelle isn’t my  _ girlfriend _ \--”

 

Ned interrupted, “Might as well be, you hang out with her everyday.”

 

“Well, she’s not! And you invited her. Not me.” Ned stared up at him with pouty eyes and put his hands together, mouthing  _ please. _ “She can come.  _ Next _ week.”

 

He jumped up with pride. “You’re the best, Pete. Hey, did I tell you about the time I accidentally snorted ketchup? Well, I did it again.”

 

When Peter got home, he quickly patroled, succsesfully helping a pregnant woman carry her groceries for a few blocks and stopping a purse theft. He took a shower after that, made a PB&J, shoved it down his throat, and waited for Michelle. He waited and waited and waited.

 

Well, he didn’t wait  _ that _ long. Peter was “incredibly impatient,” as May and many of his teachers described him. So what was actually an hour, felt like six.

 

Michelle texted him,  _ Around the crnr _ . He ran down the stairs, deciding to wait for her outside, and heard her before he saw her.

 

“I’m not a  _ child! _ ” she shouted.

 

“Then maybe you should stop acting like one,” a male voice retorted. Mr. Jones. Peter looked down the side walk and saw Michelle--in the same yellow sweater she wore at school--angerly walking in front of her father.

 

She whipped around. “No, you need to stop treating me like one. I make mistakes,  _ dad _ . I’m not always the perfect little girl you think I am.”

 

Michelle started walking again, and when she spotted Peter, her face dropped. Her father took the oppurtunity to take a jab at both of them. “This all started when you became friends with  _ him _ . You are so much better than this stupid boy, Michelle, stop wasting your energy on him.”

 

“I--” her face turned red. Now on the bottom of the steps, she glanced at Peter. “I don’t waste my energy on him! Peter has  _ nothing  _ to do with this.”

 

“I’d beg to differ. He is ruining you.” Mr. Jones scoweled at him; Peter stayed perfectly still, afraid that if he moved, they would both team up on him.

 

Michelle straightened her posture, a mischievous grin sprouting. She looked at her dad, then at Peter, and back to her father. “You want to see me wasting my energy, dad? You wanna see what it really means to  _ waste my energy _ ?”

 

“ _ Michelle _ \--” he scolded, not liking her tone. Peter was lost. What was she going to do?

 

She walked up the steps hastily, placing her hands on Peter’s shoulder as soon as he was in reach. And before he knew it, Michelle’s lips were against his, her fingers in his hair, her vanilla scent overcoming him. Peter slightly jerked back in surprise. However, he still found himself placing his hands on Michelle’s hips. He found himself bringing her closer, he found himself kissing back, he found himself wanting more when she pulled back.

 

When she did, they both kept their eyes closed, but only for a moment. Her thumb trailed across his jaw, her left hand entagled in his curls. Her body was pressed against his and it felt… It felt  _ right _ .

 

“Now that,” she said once pulling back, at a loss of breath. Michelle looked over at her father, who wore a permanate scowl on his face. “Now that was a waste of my energy.” Then, she stormed inside Peter’s apartment complex.

 

The way she said it, though--you could tell that she was lying.

 

**spidermfans: i messed up @ spider-man please drop kick me into hell** **  
  
**

Michelle got a B+ on her English exam.

 

Her father went  _ balistic _ when he found out; yelling about how she didn’t apply herself anymore, now that she had Peter, and that Peter was corrupting her mind. It was all about Peter. It was a foreign idea, apparently, that Peter Parker was the only source of her troubles. As if her father wasn’t  _ overbearing _ and  _ controlling _ . As if she didn’t miss her mother.

 

If Michelle wanted to prove how Peter wasn’t a bad influence, she wouldn’t have kissed him. It was a crazy, bat shit idea that she would be punished for for the rest of her life. But when she saw him--standing there awkwardly, in an outfit he hadn’t worn at school, and a growing sympathetic expression--it was the only thing she could think of. To get her dad off her back, at least. Michelle didn’t have a burning desire to make out with Peter Parker.

 

At least, she didn’t  _ before _ she kissed him.

 

The problem was that Peter kissed her back. He made an effort to pull her close and move his head in sync with her’s. The hem of Michelle’s shirt was raised just a tiny bit, but Peter’s pinky fingers had managed to touch her bare skin, sending shivers down her spine. He smelt  _ good _ ; freshly showered, with cologne she would normally make fun of. And oh god-- Peter’s hair was soft, so soft Michelle would later dream about playing with it. Although she only had one other person to compare it to, Peter was an amazing kisser. Harry Osborn had  _ nothing _ on him.

 

They entered his apartment and started working as if nothing happened. Peter offered her a soda, she accepted, and then they debated if Michelle should draw a rat on the poster or not. You could cut the tension with a butter knife, but neither of them said a word about it.

 

They took turns staring at each other. Michelle could feel his eyes on her when she had her head down, probably judging her for her bad choices. When she stared at him, though, Michelle thought about where he learned how to kiss like that. She thought about kissing him again.

 

Jesus, maybe her dad was right. Peter was corrupting her.

 

“I’m sorry, Peter,” she eventually blurted out. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

 

Peter chewed on his pencil, only looking up at her for a second. “It’s no biggie,” he shrugged.

 

“You only say ‘it’s no biggie’ when it  _ is _ a biggie. I mean--when it’s a big deal.” She was  _ flustered _ . Maybe if he stopped chewing on that fucking pencil then Michelle would regain her composure.

 

“Give me one example--”

 

“Your weird bruises. I’ve bought the wrestling class excuse long enough, even though I saw through that bullshit  _ immediatly _ . Do you know how many times you left in the middle of the day and came back with black eyes in the past two weeks alone? Six times. Wreslting class my ass.”

 

Peter slammed the pencil down, groaning in frustration. “Well, I mean it this time. It’s not a big deal, Michelle.”

 

“Yes it is!” she demanded. “I used you to piss my dad off. I shouldn’t have done that and I apologize. Peter, I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s  _ fine _ .”

 

“Either tell me where you go when you ditch class or accept my apology. Look,” she continued, hesitantly, “I know a kiss might not be a big deal to you, but it is to me. I’ve only ever kissed one other boy, and--”

 

“Wait,” Peter spoke over her, “why wouldn’t it be a big deal to me?”

 

Michelle stammered to find an answer. She couldn’t flat out just say  _ you’re an awesome kisser so you’ve obviously had practice _ . “W-well usually boys don’t… They don’t care as much? And I’m just assuming you and Liz--You guys were kind of a thing.”

 

“We never did anything,” he said matter of factly, like it was a well known thing. “ _ I’ve _ never done anything.”

 

“ _ That _ was your first kiss?” She felt about twenty times worse, but was also amazed. Peter was naturally good at everything.

 

“Why’d you say it like that?”

 

Michelle stiffled down a laugh. “It’s just--You’re a Stark internship hot shot. I thought the girls would be fighting over you. And, y’know, it was… A pretty decent kiss.”

 

He looked up at her, his mouth ajar, but slowly forming into a smirk. “ _ Decent _ , huh?”

 

“Don’t get so high and mighty, Parker. I said  _ decent _ . Anyways, accept my apology or tell me who beats you up every day.”

 

When he smiled and playfully rolled his eyes, Michelle couldn’t help but grin back. “You stole my first kiss from me, Michelle, but nevertheless, I accept your apology.”

 

A moment passed, and then two, and they were still locked in a gaze and smiling. “Peter,” she started, “People who have kissed me get to call me MJ. It’s a rule.”

 

“ _ That’s _ all I had to do to get this honor?” he joked. “If I knew that, I would’ve kissed you a long time ago.”

 

Michelle chuckled and got back to work on the rat drawing. Eventually, she expected to hear Peter’s fingers to begin slamming on the keyboard, but it never came. When she looked up, he blurted, “Do you want to hang out sometime where we, uh, don’t do this?”

 

“L-like a date?” 

 

“No! Not a date just—a friendly hang out where we don’t have to worry about a plague from hundres of years ago or other people. But not a date. No date.”

 

With the stunt she just pulled, her father would never let her. But Peter seemed so hopeful, so proud of himself for even  _ asking _ , and she  _ did _ just steal one of his important milestones… “Sure, Parker.”

 

He beamed. “Seriously? Awesome. How about Coney Island on Saturday?”

 

“Awesome,” she simply replied. They stared intensely; Michelle noticing the exact moment a new thought popped into Peter’s head, his smile fading, his breathing shallowing. 

 

“MJ—” he started, unnaturally, not used to it yet. 

 

“Let’s get back to work, Peter,” Michelle stopped him, nervous for what he was going to say. She didn’t want to know. 

 

In a span of less than an hour, her relationship with Peter had grown immensely. Michelle almost trusted him—she thought about telling him about her troubles with her father a lot. And she had started to look at him differently, and not just in the “oh wow, maybe he  _ is _ attractive,” kind of way. In the “oh wow, he’s actually a good person and I never should have judged him so quickly,” kind of way. He didn’t pressure her to share and he didn’t say anything that would’ve set her over the edge. Peter was funny and he was nice and…

  
And everything with him felt natural. Talking to him,  _ not _ talking to him, kissing him—everything. 


	6. Chapter 6

**@Nleeeeds sent you a message: “@spidermfans: what do you wear to a not-date with someone you could POTENTIALLY ****?” i think mj fell in love with you after she kissed you**

**P: shut up**

 

At school the next day, Peter made a point to mention their Coney Island trip whenever possible. “Hey, Mich-- MJ, what’s your favorite thing to do at Coney Island?” “MJ! You like snow cones? They have those at Coney Island.” “Ned’s favorite roller coaster is The Cyclone. That’s at Coney Island, Michelle. Uh, MJ.” (Michelle thought it was cute how many times he tripped up on her name. He’d always blush and scratch the back of his neck.)

 

He showed her pictures of the numerous times he and Ned had gone, telling her, “This will be us in twenty eight hours. We will bond so hard, MJ.” So, as one would, Michelle thought he was  _ excited _ about it. She didn’t think she would have to remind him the day of.

 

But, alas, she trusted Peter too much.

 

Michelle put on a  _ skirt _ for him. A black mid-thigh skirt, with a Spider-Man t-shirt she bought on Etsy tucked in, and a red flannel over it. She wore the t-shirt because she knew he would like it, the skirt because it showed off her legs--plus she wanted him to think of her in the way she thought of him--and the flannel because it was cold. Michelle french braided her hair, and she put on lip gloss. It took more effort to plan that all than she had ever put into another outfit.

 

She told her father she was going to Betty’s, for an emergency decathlon meeting. As she was leaving the house, she promised herself not to lie to him anymore. Just that last one. Just to see if anything would happen with Peter that night.

 

Michelle knew what Peter said--“Not a date. No date.” Those words haunted her when she closed her eyes at night. However, if she had seen an opportunity, she might have, hypothetically, taken her chance. That might’ve been my holding his hand, kissing him again, or straight up saying, “I like you, Peter.” It depended on the situation.

 

At five o’clock, Michelle boarded the train to Coney Island. She nervously tapped her foot and bit on her nails, because as the clock ticked her stomach twisted and turn more viciously. It wasn’t a date.  _ It wasn’t a date _ .

 

But, it could’ve been.

 

She arrived at the pre-agreed on meeting spot at 5:25, five minutes early. Michelle scrolled her Twitter feed while she waited. There was a Spider-Man spotting a few blocks down, apparently, and he fought one of the Mafia groups. Michelle couldn’t remember which one.

 

5:30, and Peter wasn’t there. Michelle dismissed it due to his usual tardiness. She texted him a few times, but he never got back to her.

 

She called him at 5:50. “Hey, asshole,” she started, but in a joking manner. “Where are you? It’s 10 to, and you were supposed to have won me a giant unicorn by now. Call me. Or, arrive. Y’know, which ever is faster.”

 

At 6:10, an hour after she had left the house, Michelle started thinking that maybe she was waiting too long for him. She got a sinking feeling deep in her stomach that maybe, just maybe, Peter forgot about her.

 

She called him again ten minutes later. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” Michelle said, seriously. “You got me all the way out to Coney Island just to  _ ditch me _ ? You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met, Parker. Go fuck yourself.”

 

So, Michelle got on the train to go back home. But, as she thought about how pissed off she was, she decided to get off at the wrong stop. At Peter’s stop.

 

Michelle slammed her fist against the Parker’s apartment door, screaming profanities, when May opened the door. “Michelle! Aren’t you supposed to be with Peter right now?”

 

“He never showed,” she bitterly informed her. “Why is your nephew so irresponsible?”

 

May ushered Michelle inside, closing the door behind them. “God, I’ll talk to him about that when he gets home. Anyways, Michelle, he’s got a lot on his plate. The, uh, Stark internship takes a lot out of him, and I keep saying, ‘Tell Mr. Stark that school comes first,’ but he never does.” May rambled when she lied. Michelle, at least, thought she was lying.

 

“Tony Stark is an ass,” she muttered under her breath. “Do you mind if I wait for Peter in his room? I have a few things I have to say to him in person.”

 

“Go ahead.” May formed a thin smile as she nodded her head. “It’s just down the hall and the first door to the right.”

 

As she walked down the hallway, Michelle tore out her braids, thinking,  _ I’m not going to give him the  _ chance _ to care. _ She swung the door open, her left one only half out, and saw a half naked Peter standing in front of her.

 

Michelle was immediately drawn to the stab wound on his abs. Huge, like someone twisted it around, and the flimsy piece of gauze he had on it did nothing to slow down the bleeding. Peter, red with embarrassment, covered the wound with one hand. Blood surrounded his fingers. “What are you doing in here?” he screamed at her.

 

“Peter…” Michelle trailled off, not knowing what to say. Seeing him like that was what she always imagined when she saw his bruises.

 

“Close the door,” he whispered. She obliged.

 

He, for the better part of five minutes, ignored her as he stitched up the wound. Every so often he would suppress a painful groan, or would clean up the area again. Peter didn’t even look at her once.

 

“What the fuck?” Michelle managed to eventually say. “What the  _ fuck _ , Peter? Y-y-you got stabbed! You’re bleeding!”

 

“Yeah. This is why I didn’t go to Coney Island, which I’m really sorry about, by the way. I was really looking forward to it.” And the way he said it was like it was no big deal. Sure, the bruises were super secretive but, a  _ stabbing _ ? No biggie.

 

But perhaps he was too tired from the blood loss to come up with an excuse, or to pretend like it was fake blood for his Halloween costume. Either way, it made it worse.

 

He ripped the end of the string with his teeth, like they do in movies. Fury coursed through Michelle’s body.

 

“Is there something wrong with you? You’re acting like you got a nose bleed. Some guy tried to kill you, Peter! How many times has this happened that you know how to stitch yourself up? Do you get off on being beaten up?” Michelle looked down to Peter’s feet, which was piled under discarded bandages. “Oh my god… You’re going to the hospital.”

 

She lurched towards him and grabbed his arm, but Peter kept his ground when she pulled. “May can’t know,” he pleaded. “She’ll freak.”

 

“No shit!” Michelle screamed. She buried her head in her hands and groaned loudly. “God, Peter, I’m not letting you die tonight. I’m not letting you die  _ period _ . Please, tell May, or-or I can ask her to get dinner for me and we can leave and go and she can find out  _ later _ .”

 

“No, MJ. I… can’t.” Peter coughed onto his arm, and when Michelle peered over, she half expected it to be splattered with blood. “See? No internal bleeding. I’m fine.”

 

“That just means that there’s no blood in your lungs. Your liver might be punctured--”

 

“The liver is higher up.”

 

Michelle widened her eyes and felt the urge to hit him across the face, and to scream at him again and again about how much of an idiot he is. “I don’t give a shit where the liver is. You still might have internal bleeding, which is why we need to go to the hospital.  _ God _ , you are insufferable. And, what do you mean you can’t?”

 

“I--I just can’t.”

 

“Peter, look,” Michelle wiped away a tear on her cheek. “I can’t keep worrying about you all the time. Do you know how many times I’ve thought, ‘What if he gets killed?’ Every single time I see a new bruise. Every single one of those nights. And,  _ this? _ This is just so, so terrible. I need you to let me take you to a doctor.”

 

Peter, his hands only somewhat clean from the towel he rubbed them on, reached out to touch Michelle’s face. She jerked herself backwards. “Tell me what you do,” she pleaded, the tears coming faster, her mind going crazy with a million scenarios that all leaded to his death. “Tell me what you do that lets this happen to you.”

 

He took a heavy breath, rubbing his palm and looking everywhere but her. “Tomorrow.”

 

“ _ Tomorrow? _ ”

 

Peter looked at her, compassion behind his eyes. He said, gently, “It requires a demonstration. And, I’m really tired right now.”

 

She stammered to find the right words. “Because of all the blood loss. Look, Peter, don’t be an idiot. I’m taking you to the hospital, right now. I don’t give a shit if May will freak.”

 

“Do you trust me?” He  _ hobbled _ over to his dresser to put on a red sweatshirt.

 

“Not really, no.” She did trusted him, too much and too fast, but not in this situation. In this situation, she wouldn’t trust him with her life.

 

Peter grimaced as he threw the sweatshirt over his head, saying, “Well, too bad. I promise you that I will make it through the night. And tomorrow, super early in the morning if you want, I will tell you everything. Because  _ I  _ trust you, MJ.”

 

“Okay,” Michelle said, with a faux act of confidence. “But I’m staying the night. I’m not letting you die. Before I find out your secret, of course.”

 

“Of course,” he repeated, with a cocky grin. “You can borrow some clothes, the top drawer is shirts, the bottom is sweatpants, and the middle two is random. Uh, nice Spider-Man shirt, by the way.”

 

“Thank you.” Michelle walked over to the dresser, where Peter still stood, and felt his eyes glued on her as she chose clothes. Quickly, she was holding a pair of sweatpants and a baggy shirt. “So, do I just change here or--”

 

“Yeah, yeah, here is good. I’ll step out and wash up and tell May what’s going on. Yeah. Okay, cool.” 

 

Peter left, tripping over his own pile of clothes, and closed the door behind him.  _ She doesn’t even know that he’s home _ , Michelle thought as she slid her skirt off. She folded it and placed it on Peter’s desk, and put the pants on. She, finally, finished taking out the french braid and then switched shirts. Peter’s clothing fit her loosely, surprisingly. Michelle was taller, after all.

 

She also texted her dad, telling him she was sleeping over at Betty’s. One more lie wouldn’t hurt.

 

“MJ?” Peter yelled through the door. “You decent?”

 

“Come in.”

 

He laughed as he entered. “Wow, MJ. You look so good in my clothes.” Peter crashed on his bed and cuddled a pillow. “You can sleep on the top bunk, that’s where Ned always sleeps.”

 

“No,” she blurted. “If you won’t let me take you to the hospital, then I am staying close to you all night. I have to keep track of your breathing.” Michelle sat down at the foot of Peter’s bed, waiting for him to scoot back and make room for her.

 

In that moment, Peter’s health was most important to her. She wasn’t even thinking about, how in any other scenario, she would’ve loved that.

 

“O-Okay.” He moved so she could lay down, which, she did. With Peter straight on his back, Michelle was on her side with her ear pressed against his chest. “What are you doing?” He nervously choked down.

 

“Listening to your breathing.”

 

Peter gulped. “Cool.”

 

His hand cautiously rested on her waist as Michelle closed her eyes. She didn’t care that the last time she ate was before she got on the train, or that it was only 7:20, Peter’s relaxing and reassuring breaths made it those things, and her worries, go away. She was there, in his arms, and he was alive.

 

For now, Peter was alive.

 

**N: peter**

**N: PETER are you dead?**

**P: shh you’re making my phone go crazy. mj is sleeping**

**N: WHO is WHAT?? facetime me right now**

 

Peter, for close to an hour, was going over and over in his head about how to tell her that he was Spider-Man.

 

He woke up at 4:23, starving with a full bladder, but never moved from where he was. Overnight, Peter switched to his side and subconsciously brought Michelle  _ closer _ to him; his arms were tight around her and her breath tickled his neck. Peter thought,  _ There’s no where else I want to be right now _ . Not even the bathroom.

 

Peter was infatuated with her. He realized it when she first kissed him, although it started a while before that, and was planning at Coney Island to tell her. And then, he got stabbed by some of Wilson Fisk’s men. It was a struggle to get home, and all the while he got every voice mail, and every text.

 

He wasn’t even supposed to be out patrolling. May made him promise not to that afternoon--she promised that Sunday morning, when Michelle left, he’d be getting an earful--but then he overheard a police call, and his impulse controls  _ sucked _ .

 

If Peter could’ve told Michelle, right then and there, he would’ve. She looked miserable with worry, as if Peter’s pain was her own. Her begging and pleading made Peter’s stomach wring, making him feel like vomiting, but he couldn’t tell her then. She wouldn’t have believed him.

 

When she laid her head on his chest, Peter felt his whole body come alive. His super healing worked faster. His heartbeat was loud and clear in his ears, and every moment Michelle made reactivated it. 

 

And she was wearing his clothes! Seeing that for the first time made Peter weak in the knees.

 

Eventually, after coming up with nothing good, Peter gave her one last squeeze and got up. He trudged his way to the bathroom, turning the lights on, and lifted his shirt up to check the scar. Mostly healed. Peter was still going to leave the stitches in for a few hours, though, just to be safe.

 

He tried calling Ned, like he told him to, but he didn’t answer.

 

When Peter got back into his room, Michelle was sitting upright with her arms holding her knees. “You’re alive,” she said, her vocal cords scratchy.

 

Peter plopped back onto his bed, getting underneath the covers, his feet grazing her’s. “That I am.”

 

“Can I see it? The scar?”

 

“Later,” he told her. He extended his arm out, thinking that maybe if he did that, she would take the opportunity to rest her head on his shoulder.

 

He was right. 

 

Michelle chuckled, nuzzling herself against Peter. “You’re a dick. A totally healthy, not sickly looking, dick.”

 

“‘Not sickly looking.’ That’s the best you can say about me?” He ran his fingers through her hair, staring into nothing.

 

“That’s right,” Michelle yawned. Her tone turned serious, saying, “You are the only person, other than my dad, that I  _ really _ care about. Last night--”

 

“I’m so sorry, MJ.”

 

She took Peter’s hand and shushed him. “Let me talk. Last night really, really sucked. My mom was a SHIELD agent, and one day when I was like, seven, she died during a job.” He already knew that, but he wasn’t going to dare to say that. Also, hearing it in person rather than behind a screen, was so much more raw to him. She was struggling to get the words out, and Peter never woud’ve known over Twitter.

 

“So, I guess I just worry a lot. I worry that my dad isn’t going to come home, and then I’ll be an orphan or something. And, I know the probability of that happening is super slim, but-- But, you got stabbed. So, who knows, right?” She buried her face into the crook of Peter’s neck and murmured, “If you leave me like my mom did, I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.”

 

“I won’t,” whispered Peter, playing with her hair. “I promise.”

 

“And don’t tell anyone about my mom. I only tell people w-who are important to me. That doesn’t mean that Ned or Betty or other people on the Decathlon team aren’t, you just--well, you get it.”

 

Peter, being washed over with a sense of guilt, rested his head against her’s and snuck his hand underneath her to link his hands together. Michelle didn’t just tell anyone. He could guess that she only told two people:  _ Patrick _ and Peter. When she told Patrick, she just said that her mom had died a long time ago, removing any identifying details. However, it was still enough for Peter to link the two girls together. She didn’t care if he knew anymore.

 

“MJ, I have to tell you something.”

 

“Yes, you do. Why does it require a demonstration?” She perked up, now looking Peter in the eyes.

 

_ Fuck _ . Guess Peter would have to tell her later. “You want to do this right now?” Michelle eagerly nodded. “Alright. You should… wait outside. Next to the front steps, but in front of the alley way.”

 

“Outside?” Rolling her eyes, she reluctantly got off of Peter to slip her shoes on. He immediately missed her against him. “Fine, I won’t argue, but if this better not be stupid.”

 

“It won’t,” he promised with a smile. He watched her leave and then sprung up from his bed, grabbing the suit (that he hadn’t yet fixed,) from where he hid it in his closet. Peter rapidly undress, pulled on the Spider-Man suit, and activated it. 

 

He nervously bounced around a bit, giving Michelle time to get there. He had timed himself before, and his record for getting on the suit was fifteen seconds, which was impressive more than anything else. Peter and Ned shared a high five over it one day, and that was all.

 

Soon, Peter jumped out the window, swinging over to where he told Michelle to wait. (This was going to scare the shit out of her. Maybe he should’ve thought of something different. He could’ve just jumped off the roof!) When he spotted her, he swooped down, grabbed her hips, and took her with him.

 

“PUT ME DOWN!” she screamed, but nevertheless held him with a death grip.

 

Peter set her down on his own building’s roof, waiting a bit to take off his mask. “Are you okay?” he asked.

 

“I was  _ fine _ . Why did you do that?” She surveyed the suit, going down until she saw the rip in the side where he had gotten stabbed last night. Realization hit her. “ _ Peter _ ?”

 

He took the mask off, grinning wildly. “Hey, MJ.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry this chapter is so late! i was having troubles with what it was going to be about so i just ignored it :/ but it's here! and for the main part i like it. thank you for reading and please comment! i love reading them


	7. Chapter 7

Peter knew what it was like to have a gun shot go off right next to his head, he knew how Manhattan traffic sounded with his super hearing, and he would rather experience those things all over again than stand where he was. Michelle’s silence was deafening.

 

“MJ, are you mad? I would’ve told you earlier, it’s just… Well, you get it. No one can know.” He couldn’t read her. Even when he talked, it was like he was talking to a brick wall. “You have to say something,” Peter pleaded.

 

“I…” she started, “I don’t know what to say.” Her voice was a small whisper. He was shocked he even heard her.

 

Peter inched towards her. “I know how weird this is, MJ. And I know--trust me, I know--how dangerous it is, but I’m still here. You don’t have to worry about that. And I only told you because I trust you. Completely.” 

 

Michelle, her eyes watery, made eye contact with Peter. She took a step back. She said, “You’re Spider-Man,” like it finally all clicked.

 

“Yeah, I am. Are you… okay with that?” He heard a car door slam, from a few miles away, but still anxiously pulled his mask halfway down. When he did, Michelle scoffed and distanced herself again.

 

“I feel like we just had this conversation last night,” she scowled, running her fingers through her hair. “God, Peter, I’m not okay with you almost getting killed every night! Why didn’t I just buy the wrestling excuse,” Michelle asked herself.

 

“But, I don’t get killed. You’ve seen me in action! You know how agile I am. I’ve never even been seriously injured.” As soon as those words left his mouth, she perked up. 

 

Michelle pushed him in the chest. Hard enough to knock him backwards. “You got  _ stabbed _ last night. I watched as you sewed yourself up. Don’t say you--”

 

“There isn’t even a scar there.” Peter showed her the hole on her suit where he had been bleeding from the night before. She leaned down, delicately moving her fingers across his skin. “I have healing powers, MJ. That’s why my bruises were always gone the next day.”

 

“I just thought you were really good at makeup.” Michelle stood up straight, narrowing her eyes. “The eyes on this mask is creeping me out.”

 

“Be serious. What do you think?”

 

She sniffed and took his arm, analyzing the fabric of his suit. “It- it’s very impressive,” she said The suit? His powers? Peter didn’t know. Michelle pressed the pressure point on his hand, making webs fly in the air. “Woah.”   
  
“Not about the suit, MJ. Your opinion matters to me.”

 

“If I asked you to stop, would you?” Hesitantly, Peter shook his head no. “You are more committed to this than anything else in your life. More than school, more than m-- More than Ned.” She touched the spider on his chest, flinching when it waved to her.

 

“That’s not true,” he argued.

 

“I got dressed for a date. I know it wasn’t meant to be one, but I woke up yesterday morning and got ready for a  _ date _ .” Michelle refused to look at him, just continued trailing her fingers across the crevasse of his suit. “And you put this on.”

 

“What are you saying, MJ?”

 

She looked up at him, finally, her eyes searching his suit’s goggles. “I’m saying-- God, I don’t know what I’m saying, Peter. I think that what you’re doing is heroic and brave but if you think that just because you’re  _ agile _ , you can’t get killed, you’re a fucking idiot.”

 

“Of course I don’t think that, but--”

 

“You need to be careful. I am not going to be some kind of weeping little girl all the time because I’m so paranoid about why you’re not texting me back. And if I see one more gunshot or stab wound, I swear to god, Peter, I’ll beat your ass harder than those criminals did,” Michelle ranted frantically, backing Peter up as she pointed her finger into his chest.

 

“So you don’t hate me?” he asked. His hands gravitated to her hips and rested there, and he felt her relax. “I’d really like it if you didn’t hate me.”

 

Michelle put her hands on his shoulders instinctively. “I don’t hate you, Peter. You’re just an idiot, and I’m going to worry about you, so much.” She rested her head in the crook of his neck, and let out a long exhale.

 

If he’d said anything more, he probably would’ve ruined it. So, he closed his eyes and buried his head in her hair, pulling her as close to him as possible. Michelle smelled like him, obviously having slept in his bed the night before, in his  _ space _ , but Peter hadn’t realized how much he enjoyed that.

 

“Peter, there’s something  _ I  _ need to tell you.” She pulled back, but her arms still hooked around his neck.

 

“Oh?” he gasped out. Maybe it was just his hormonal body, but he missed having her against him instantly.

 

“I-- I’m Mary.”

 

For the smallest of moments, Peter’s brain shut down. “Who?” he blurted. For a while now, Michelle had only been Michelle. Peter liked Michelle, not anyone else, and at five in the morning, he forgot that he once knew her under another name.

 

“Patrick,” she grimaced, as if saying the name hurt her. “Oh my god, I just got how you took all those photos. Luck my ass! Uh, anyways, I’m sorry for blocking you when I found out who you were. You see, at the time, I kind of hated you.”

 

“Oh.” He’d known that, but hearing it still hurt.

 

“You were my only friend for the longest time, so when I found out that you were  _ Peter Parker _ , I freaked. And I shouldn’t have, because knowing you in real life is so much better than just online. I wish I’d figured that out earlier. I’m so glad you put up with my bullshit when we were put together as partners.”

 

The only reason that he’d ‘put up with her bullshit’ in the first place was because he knew. He knew that Michelle was actually a good and funny person underneath her rocky exterior, but was Peter supposed to fess up as well? He should’ve. That seemed like the perfect opportunity to. But… would she get mad at him? He was pushing his luck that morning, and if he said that, Michelle probably would’ve lost it.

 

Right?

 

“It’s okay, MJ,” Peter said. “Really.”

 

She grinned at him, going in for another hug. Hopefully, with more guilt on Peter’s shoulders, this one lasted for a while.

 

**@spideyupdates: your fan account for me is so nice, mj. you're my biggest supporter**

**@spiidermfans: i am three seconds away from changing my layout to thor. watch your ass**

 

She felt free.

 

Peter knew everything about her; he knew about her mom, he knew about her father and their relationship, and she finally told him about their  _ prior _ relationship. Michelle only wished she saw his eyes when she admitted it, because she honestly couldn’t tell how shocked he was. Or, if he was shocked at all.

 

Nevertheless, Michelle had never had this experience before. She kept everything about herself bottled up until she exploded, but now that Peter was in her life, she finally felt safe enough to tell him how she felt. And good, did that feel good.

 

Peter being Spider-Man, though-- the stress might kill her. She didn’t want to cry over her phone every night because he wasn’t replying, but Michelle knew that’s what was going to happen. She didn’t want him to be hurt, in any capacity, but it was going to happen. Michelle imagined that, one day, Peter would crawl through her bedroom window, bloody, broken, almost blue due to lack of oxygen, and she wouldn’t know what to do. Thinking about it made her nauseous.

 

But, for now, Michelle was lying in Peter’s bed again. He went out to get breakfast--a couple donuts and two bottles of chocolate milk--and she covered her head with the blankets, trying to fit a small nap in before he got back. She was exhausted.

 

As soon as she drifted, though, Peter came back, and closed the door with extreme care. “May is still sleeping,” he whispered. “Shit, are you asleep?”

 

“No,” Michelle yawned, sitting up. He peeled his shoes off and laid next to her in his bed after planting the box of donuts at her feet. She reached forward, taking an apple fritter. “I love these,” she said, taking a bite of it.

 

“You’re welcome.” Peter took his own glazed donut, getting glaze on the top of his mouth.

 

“So,” Michelle started, “are you going to do this for the rest of your life? And I mean that in a non-judgmental kind of way.”

 

“As long as I can.” He took another bite. More glaze, now on his chin. “I’ll do it until my back gives out, and maybe even after that. I’ll fight gang members with my walker. What are you going to do with the rest of your life?”

 

Peter put his legs underneath the covers, and he audibly gasped when her foot starting toying with the edge of his sweatpants. “I don’t know. Maybe architecture. Maybe politics.”

 

“Architecture is pretty sweet,” he nodded along, and scooted closer to her. 

 

She stuffed down another bite of apple fritter, chasing it down with a drink of chocolate milk. Michelle nervously laughed when she saw Peter watching her. “What? What’s up?”

 

“You’re a beautiful eater.” He grinned, and ate the last bit of his glazed donut.

 

“No one is a beautiful eater.”

 

“You are.”

 

She rolled her eyes, and reached forward with her hand. “Well, if I’m a beautiful eater, then you’re an ugly one.” Michelle cleared his face of glaze. “How do you even get it on your forehead? I thought Spider-Man was supposed to have grace in everything he did.”

 

Peter just shrugged, his eyes exploring her’s, his breath hot against her face. And with his chin in between her fingers, Michelle hesitantly brought his face closer to her’s. Their touched, their lips grazed just ever so lightly. 

 

“I like you,” she murmured. That last thing, and Peter knew absolutely everything.

 

“I like you, too.” 

 

She closed the minimal gap between them. Peter swiftly moved her so she was on her back, accidentally kicking the donut box off the bed and making Michelle drop her chocolate milk onto the floor. “I’ll clean it up later,” he said, brushing it off.

 

Michelle wrapped her legs around him, and let go of her one remaining bite of apple fritter to put her hands through his hair. His kisses were fast and tender, making every part of her body light on fire. And when his hands went underneath her shirt, but only worshiped the bend of her lower back--Michelle was going to lose it.

 

Things with Peter were rapidly escalating. Any other guy, and she would’ve already hit the panic button a million times. But, the way Peter was tracing her skin, the way his kisses were passionate and not just rough, the way he  _ talked _ to her, Michelle would’ve been ready for anything.

 

He moved south, trailing kisses down her jaw and neck, each one igniting a new nerve Michelle didn’t know she had. Her body screamed for more, and she directed his hands up, and up, and--

 

“Wait, MJ,” he panted. “Let’s stop, okay?” His hands held onto her waist, and he nodded against her forehead.

 

“Why?” she asked, short of breath. She twirled his hair around her fingers.

 

“We just need to slow things down. I can’t ditch you at Coney Island and then do this.” He rolled off of her, laying on his side. She copied him to look him in the eyes.

 

“It’s fine, Peter,” she assured, leaning forward to kiss him again.

 

It was short, though. “MJ, I want to do the whole thing. The dating and, well this, but I just-- I need to slow down. Right now, mostly.”

 

“Oh, okay.” Michelle, then started laughing and widened her eyes. “ _ Oh _ .  _ Oh _ , okay. Yeah, let’s slow down. Didn’t think it’d happen that quickly, honestly. You need some self control.”

 

“Shut up!” he whispered. “You’re the first girl I’ve ever kissed, remember?”

 

She directed him to be flat on his back, and like the night before, she rested her head on his chest. “I remember. We can just fall back asleep. Or you can go on your phone, and I can sleep.” Peter let out an agreeing grunt.

 

“And Peter? I want to do the whole thing with you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, it's back! hopefully some of you still care/remember dshhsjsjs. and if you do, you have cosmicdaya to thank on twitter <3 its one am when im posting this im so tired pls enjoy this! wish me a good nights sleep <3


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